


Fall from Grace

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SR1.  Sometimes you need a friend.  Sometimes you need an enemy.  And sometimes it's all the same damn thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall from Grace

The basement apartment was little more than a hole in the wall, but whenever Julius’ boy up and vanished without a trace, it was easily the first place to look. Only contrary to the usual untidy-but-ordered, the place had been turned upside down, with articles sorted into piles.

Faith’s back was to the door, and her attention was invested with cutting a painting off its frame. Several other frames had been discarded to one corner, with and without canvas attached, and several other canvasses had been rolled up and shoved into the backpack at her feet.

The motion slowed as he stepped up behind her; she pirouetted, and he caught her wrist, holding the box-cutter firmly at bay. Her fingers tightened around the handle; her eyes widened in recognition, then narrowed as she scowled.

“Goin’ somewhere?”

“ _Jesus_.” The fight went out of her shoulders, but not her eyes. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“The door doesn’t _have_ a lock.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grinned, “ain’t that something.”

He let go. Faith swapped the tool from one hand to the other, flicking and twisting her wrist. “The hell are you doing here?”

“When Julius is pissed off because didn’t answer your phone for three days, I figure it’s time I start checking around; it was either start here or down at the city morgue.”

Faith finished cutting the canvas, dropped the box-cutter on the table and began rolling the painting over her knee. She ran a rubber band over it, and shoved it into the backpack with the rest. Johnny pulled out one at random; she tried to grab it back from him, but he wouldn’t let go. He smiled cheerfully at her frustration and she gave up.

“ _What_?”

She leaned back, gripping the table behind her. “What do you want?”

Rolling the rubber band off the roll of canvas, he toyed with it between his fingers. “I want to know what you’re up to.”

“I’m done, I’m through, I’m out, I’m gone.”

“Ah-huh.” He flicked the rubber band at her, and uncurled the canvas, studying the splash of color and form. “ _Why_?”

“Does it matter?”

“I’m pretty sure that to Julius, it does.”

“Maybe I’m sick of the killing. Maybe I’m sick of watching friends die.” She shivered, teeth clenched. “Or maybe I don’t want to end up at the bottom of the fucking river, okay?”

Rolling the canvas up again, Johnny whipped it to one side, letting it land _wherever_ and forgotten.

“See, but that’s not what I’m seeing here.”

He moved in beside her, leaning one hand on the table beside her elbow.

“You’re afraid, sure, I get that much. But you’re not afraid of dying, you’re not afraid of killing; you’re afraid that you _like_ it.” He pressed a finger to the bridge of her nose; Faith swatted his hand away and shoved hers into her pockets. “Fuck if I know _why_....”

She ducked under and around him. “You’re so full of crap.”

Faith stumbled as he shoved her; the retaliation was swift and left him doubled over and gasping for air.

“Could you maybe _not_ with the brass knuckles?” He squinted at her as she stood scowling over him, “For the sake of friendship and... you know, _friendship_.”

Taking a deep breath, Johnny straightened, and Faith’s stance tightened.

“Alright, fine; I guess we’re doing it the hard way.”

He feinted a lunge, and when she swung again, he grabbed her arm and twisted, bringing her to the floor. Pinning her wrist beneath his boot, he clawed the weapon off her fingers, throwing it aside. It skittered across the floor, clinking until it hit the wall. They scrambled apart, each to their feet.

The ensuing fistfight lasted until Faith was leaning heavy into him, arms locked against his; Johnny flicked her foot out from under her, and she hit the floor hard. She kicked his knee out from under him, and he landed flat beside her. She rolled over, curling up on the cold cement floor, while he shoved up on his elbows, snickering.

“Tell me that _didn’t_ make you feel better.”

She curled up tighter, and flipped him off over her shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, then thought better of it.

“You and me, we’ve still got a job to do. You want to run after that...” Stretching, he drew his knee up to his chest, testing the stiffness. “That’s your choice.”

Faith rolled back and pulled herself up to her knees. She dabbed the split in her lip, and stared at the blood on her thumb. “Would you really come after me?”

“That’s on Julius.” It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten flighty; nor was it the first time he’d weighed the consequences. “If he’s willing to let King walk, maybe he’d go easy on you, too. Or maybe not.”

He ran his fingers through her hair, jostling her head until she reached up to stop him.

“I was right, though, wasn’t I?”

Keeping her gaze low, she didn’t reply, but her hand tightened around his fingers.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't even know at this point
> 
> If you're of a mind to comment, please keep in mind that as of the publishing of this fic I have thus far only played SR1 and the prologue of SR2. I have no idea where it goes from there and would prefer to remain unspoiled (and have managed to dodge pretty much everything so far.) :)


End file.
